Devil’s Deal

February 17th, 1842.

A distant clatter woke him in the dead of the night. He held his breath and thought, this is it, this is the end. Reluctantly he opened his eyes and adjusted to the shadows around him. He lay in his warm bed, surrounded by his lavish belongings… the ones he had traded his soul for. It had been so easy when he was sleeping on the dirty streets surrounded by horse manure and begging for food. Those gray days ten years prior made him long for sweet, sweet death. He did not regret his decision at the time; he’d end up dead anyway. Overnight he had a job and reputation. He had gained a station in society and money started pouring in faster than he could spend it. He hired the help to clean and cook for him, to clean his clothes and dress him. He had a room just for the tub in which he bathed in warm water and the mansion he called home.

There was a loud racketing noise again and he choked on his own breath, like someone pulling his lungs out through his mouth. It felt as though his blood was burning inside him and he knew it was time to pay his dues. As quietly as he could manage, he threw the duvet to the side and slid off the bed. A cold shiver ran up his spine and he stepped toward his bedroom door. The handle was as bitterly cold as the frosty air outside.

Something scraped the wooden floor down the hall like nails on a chalkboard and he rushed to close it, silently and ever so slowly, locking the door. There was a growl, a low guttural snarl that came from the other side of the door. It did not come from the underside of the frame, but from the aperture of the lock. The man in the room felt the blood drain from his face, felt a wave of nausea that rocked the floor and he stumbled back. There was a silence for a moment and then a whine, like a small dog and pawing at the door. For a brief instant he felt the strong urge to open it, he took a step forward and stopped abruptly. What would possess him to open it? The irony of his thoughts did not escape him. When he did not move the animal on the other side of the door barked abruptly and gnashed at the door. He wondered how his staff had not come to his aid, had they not heard the savage beast? Would they be too frightened to come near?

It kept pawing and pounding at the door, the wall shook with force and beads of sweat dripped down the man’s face. He did not notice this, he only gaped at the door; it was too much, too loud, not one, but too many of them. He didn’t know what they looked like, but he knew a heard of wild beasts had come to collect his payment… had come to collect him.

Without another thought he ran to the window and slammed it open before jumping outside. He dropped those five feet like a rag doll, unprepared for the landing, and into the remnants of bushes that had been ever so immaculately planted for his society parties. There was a slight awareness of the twist of his ankle, but his body did not register the pain, not right then. He started hobbling his way through the snow and when he finally heard the door give in and the animals burst through it, he ran. Dogs? No, dogs were not that big, not that deadly. His lungs were on fire and the air did not help him breathe. He was dying, burning from the inside out as the beasts chased him and hoofbeats? They were getting closer and closer. The thin fabric if his pyjamas did nothing to deter the wind from blowing right through his very bones but he managed to get close to the old willow. If he could just get to the old willow at the edge of his property, he could make it. He kept his eyes on it, getting closer, though his eyes were watering in the cold and his vision was blurry. The adrenaline pumped in his veins; he felt every muscle in his legs move but he did not feel the pain, he knew he was moving but did not feel the ground. He was running on clouds.

The growling of the beasts that came from behind him startled him and he shouted, throwing himself at the feet of the willow. He was curled into a ball, his whole body quivering and his teeth chattering. He felt it, the hot breath of the beasts on his face and his neck, he could smell the revolting odor of rotting meat that made his stomach turn, but he kept his eyes clenched shut. The teeth, slobbering and sharp grazed his jugular so he hardly noticed he was surrounded.

“I want to make a deal.” He whimpered under his breath. He repeated his over and over and lost count until the growling and the revolting odor faded away. Even when it was quiet again he maintained his position, holding his knees to his chest though the tingling in his arms were shooting pains up and down his spine.

“You’re a pathetic sight for sore eyes.” Another man stood in a black suit, comfortably leaning against the old tree, chewing on a wheat stalk. He seemed to be quite unaffected by the freezing temperatures. The man on the ground deliberately unfolded himself, peering out at the man in the suit and quickly around him, expecting the beast to be at his neck. “No, they’re gone for now.” The man in the suit had a nonchalant attitude about him and a deep voice; he moved slowly, and his face bore no expression. His dark eyes were hidden under a furrowed brow and thick dark hair swiftly and handsomely sleeked to one side. “I’m interested though, Mr. James William Johnson of Southwark, what could you possibly have to offer me that I don’t already have?”

The man in the ground, James, scrambled to his feet in an attempt to regain some of his dignity. “I give you another soul.” His mouth was dry, his heart still palpitated in his ears and the words were garbled as he spoke them. “I give you another soul for mine.”

“And… what? Let you live out your life for one soul?” The man in the black suit smiled empathetically. “That was your salvation?” He laughed, almost amused and shook his head. “You will pay dearly for wasting my time.” He began to turn around and a faint growl sneered in the distance.

“One soul every ten years!” James shouted before the suited man was gone. He stopped in his tracks, turning lazily. With one eyebrow raised he spoke again.

“I’m intrigued. Continue.”

“I get to keep it all,” James waved his hand at the mansion behind him. “And in return I give you one soul every ten years.” He was heaving and sweating though his garments were now soaking wet. The man in the black suit was silent for a moment, looking James up and down and the nodded slowly.

“Wealth becomes you Mr. Johnson. Okay…” He reached into the inside of his jacket and pulled out a little black book. It was small and leatherbound, and James’ salvation. “You get their names and their blood on this book and you got yourself a deal. I’ll collect every ten years.”

“And I get to keep the remaining years of their lives.” James blurted out before he was too much a coward to say the words. The man in the black suited gave him a one sided smiled and a glint in his eyes.

“You drive a hard bargain, Jimmy. Another gift of mine, I assure you.” The man placed the book gently in James’ hands and he felt the unexpected weight drag his arms down. “I’ll come to collect my first tomorrow night.” He added the last phrase gingerly, almost giddily, before he took a step back and disappeared into the shadows from which he’d come.

February 16th, 2022.

The bar was almost empty. It was the first thing Savannah noticed when she walked inside. Well, what did she expect? It was the only joint open at this hour in this small pass-through town. It was dimly lit red, music played in the background, there were cozy booths along one wall and a long bar on the other. The man behind the bar took her breath away. If all men are the same, why can’t they all look like him? She smirked at the cliché line and strolled towards him with more grace than she had in her.

“I’m feeling quite thirsty…” Savannah smiled as she sat on the bar stool and leaned forward on her elbows. “You got anything for that?”

The man in the red flannel plaid shirt laughed and shook his head. “I got water for you.” He had brown hair and dark eyes, a very masculine jaw line and his beard was short; sharp.

“Is that all?” She pouted when he reached with his toned arms to grab her a bottle from a fridge below the counter and placed it in front of her.

“You don’t look old enough to drink so, yes, that’s all.” He raised an eyebrow and out of the corner of his eye saw some other clients stumble out the door. He grabbed a towel and took the next whiskey glass to dry.

“Thank you…” She looked for a name tag but found none.

“JJ. You can call me JJ.” He glanced at the little black book on his side of the bar, out of her sight and looked around casually.

“Is that JJ for… Jonathan?” She asked, sipping her drink.

“It’s been James… Jimmy… Lately I go by JJ.” He shrugged and smiled warmly.

“Well, JJ, do you know where I could stay the night? Everything seems to be out of order after 9pm here.” She eyed some cashews on the counter and, seeing her face, he pushed them at her. She chumped them down happily.

“I know a place. I can take you there after I close the bar. It’s late, dangerous out there for a woman alone.” He wiped down the rest of the counter and went to wipe down the tables from which the last customers had left.

“Is this your bar?” She asked, glancing around as he worked. It was small, and quaint like this town but comfortable.

“Yup, it’s uh… been in the family for a while.” JJ pulled the chairs on the tables. A gentleman and a business owner. Maybe she could stay here longer than welcome to stay the night.” He smiled at her, opened the door and motioning her outside, into the lonely shadows of the night.

She hesitated for a moment and followed him, suddenly very tired. “Good thing I found a good person like you to help a girl out just in time.” she mused.

The lights shut off in the bar and she saw him lock the front door. There was a glint in his eyes when he looked at her and something in his hand, black and stuffy. “Oh, I don’t think the timing could have been any better, Savannah.” He took her hand in his and led her through the empty streets towards the willow tree.